The Adversary - 4 (35 page)

"That aspect doesn't matter, Brother," Elizabeth said. "What matters is that it's done-and done right. God! I can't tell you how marvellous it feels to do the kind of work I was trained for, preceptive redaction, instead of mucking around incompetently the way I seem to have been doing ever since I came to the Pliocene."

The friar was at the stove, making coffee. "I wouldn't call Aiken Drum's personality integration an amateur effort."

"He accomplished most of his healing himself. All I did was guide. But this child was another thing altogether. How can I explain? It was teaching rather than operating! The kind of work I did professionally back in the Milieu. The thing I'm good at.

Even Marc saw-" She trailed off, frowning at her plate.

"What did he see?" Anatoly asked.

She poked at her eggs, then put down her fork and began to slather jam on a slice of bread. "Marc was good at preception, too," she said, in a puzzled tone. "Whoever would have thought it? A man like that. A world wrecker."

"Is that how you see him?" Anatoly found two big glass mugs and filled them with the steaming brew. He pulled a silver flask from under his scapular and laced Elizabeth's coffee with the contents. "Martell Reserve du Fondateur. For heaven's sake don't tell Mary-Dedra I've been treating it so cavalierly." He thrust the cup at her. "Drink!"

Elizabeth laughed helplessly. "You're almost as impossible as Marc." The fumes of the cognac brought tears to her eyes as she drank. "How else would I look upon him, except as a fanatic who would have destroyed the Unity? And all those people who died because of his obsession-"

Anatoly said, "You must remember that I came to the Pliocene before his Rebellion. I never knew him personally, of course, but he was a public figure for many years, a magnetic leader whose ideals were by no means self-evidently evil. He was a great man, widely admired. The debacle came only when he felt constrained to use force. And a great many good people sided with his Rebellion-not merely the human chauvinists."

Elizabeth emptied her cup and sat back limply, eyes closed.

"I must admit, he was different ... from what I expected.

After we had worked together, I found it hard to reconcile my impressions of him with my pre-conceived notions."

The priest laughed. "How old were you at the time of the Rebellion?"

"Seventeen."

"No wonder you thought of him as Satan incarnate."

Elizabeth's eyes opened. Her tone was bitter as she said, "He's still proud as the devil-and determined to have his own way." She told how Marc had taken over the final stages of the redaction, forcing her into the subordinate mode of the mental linkage. "He had me utterly within his power. He could have killed me, could have kept me subservient. But he didn't. That's even stranger than his original desire to assist me with the baby's healing! Brother-what does he want?"

"God knows," said Anatoly. He emptied the last of the cognac into Elizabeth's mug. "Drink."

She did, savouring the redolence that rose from the still warm glass. "Marc has searched the stars for twenty-seven years, trying to find a single planet with minds at the coadunate level.

But when I asked what he intended to do if he found such a world ... he only laughed."

The friar shook his head. "I'm only a poor old Siberian priest without a metafunction in my skull. How should I know what motivates the likes of Marc Remillard ... or you?"

Elizabeth eyed him for a moment in silence. He was smiling modestly into his half-empty coffee mug. "It's a shame," she said at last, "that you never met an old friend of mine named Claude Majewski. The pair of you would have got on famously.

He was another sly old codger with a wide streak of low cunning."

"Funny, Sister Roccaro mentioned that, too." He gave the brandy flask a futile shake, then capped it and put it back in the pocket of his habit. "I certainly hope there's more of that Martell hidden away in Black Crag cellars. Beats Lourdes water all hollow. You want to go to confession?"

She started. "No!"

He lifted his hands, palms up, the little smile still in place.

"Easy does it. Just thought I'd ask." He headed for the kitchen door. "Any time, though."

"Why don't you ask him?" she shot out.

"Oh, I did. Three or four days ago, after I'd stolen his coverall, thinking it would prevent him from leaving the chalet via his infernal machine."

"You what"

Anatoly paused with his hand on the latch. "A futile gesture, as it turned out. He doesn't need the coverall to d-jump. It's only a monitoring convenience. So I gave it back to him."

"And your offer of spiritual assistance?"

The friar chuckled, went out the door, and shut it behind him.

CHAPTER FIVE

"I beseech you to reconsider," Old Man Kawai said.

He stood on the stoop of Madame Guderian's cottage, holding a tawny little cat in his arms. Three kittens tumbled groggily about his feet. Occasionally one would essay a tentative growl at the two riders on chalikos who loomed in the grey mist of the dooryard.

"You are the one who should remember, Tadanori-san," said Chief Burke. "Any day now, the Firvulag are likely to attack Hidden Springs-no matter what Fitharn Pegleg says. He's friendly, but he's only a single individual. And Fort Rusty was the straw that broke the hippy's back. We simply can't trust the Little People any longer. Sharn and Ayfa have lied too many times."

"It was the Iron Villages that the Firvulag King and Queen wanted to destroy," the elderly Japanese said. "Because they constituted a threat. One that is now removed."

"Eighty-three died at Rusty," Denny Johnson said. "Couple hundred more slaughtered in dribs and drabs over the months we've been slowly forced out of the other iron settlements on the Moselle-and at least that many Wounded or missing. This neck of the woods is just too close to the hostiles, Old Man.

Ol' Sharn's been saying 'Hop frog' to us for a long time now.

We just finally clevered up and decided to jump! And you will too, 'less you're ready to die. Nobody's asking you to go on the Roniah raid. You can join the caravan heading for Nionel.

Lowlives are welcome there, bless the Howler's ugly hearts."

"I cannot go," Kawai said, stroking the cat. "I understand why the rest of you wish to leave this place, but I must stay."

Burke leaned down from the saddle, proffering a Husqvarna stun-gun. "At least take this for self-defence."

Kawai shook his head. "You will need every weapon for the infiltration of Roniah. Besides, if the Firvulag know that I am defenceless, why should they molest me-a half-blind octogenarian with a cottage full of cats? No, I will stay and be a caretaker for this good home of ours that sheltered us for so many years.

I will tend the gardens, and keep the pathways free of grass, and see to the watermill, and secure the buildings against the encroachment of vermin. Some of the liberated livestock also linger-goats and a few chickens, and the big gander that Peppino could not entice into a pannier. I will feed them. And, who knows? Perhaps some day, when the troubles have resolved themselves, human beings may wish to return to Hidden Springs."

"I'd stay, God knows," Denny Johnson said, "if I thought we'd be left in peace. But you know what Fitharn said."

Kawai frowned. "You believe the tale of a coming Nightfall War?"

"Old Man, I don't know what to believe any more. But one thing's for damn sure: I didn't know when I was well off in the Milieu singing for my supper at Covent Garden. They let me go back through that time-gate, I don't care if I have to play Iago in whiteface."

Kawai smothered a giggle in the cat's fur. "Well-umaku iku yo ni, dear friend. Good luck!"

Johnson returned the sentiment, then said to Burke, "We gotta ride now, Redskin, 'fore that caravan gets too far ahead of us on the trail."

"You go along, Yellow-Eye, while I give a last bit of legal advice to this stubborn old carp."

As the other rider melted into the mist, Chief Burke climbed down out of the tall saddle and stood with his fists on his hips before the diminutive Japanese. His scarred mahogany face was impassive, but his voice broke as he said, "Don't do it. Please."

The old man sighed. "Her spirit is here, and I will be safe."

"She'd be the first to tell you what an idiot you are!"

The cat jumped from Kawai's arms and hastened to retrieve one kitten, which had gone off to challenge a prowling toad.

"Listen to me, Peopeo Moxmox. I am proud of the life I lived here in the Pliocene. A life close to nature, full of danger but rich in simple satisfaction. I never yearned to be bushi as you did, only to become a competent craftsman like my ancestors.

Here in this village I made looms and grinding machines and paper and ceramic ware and shoes. I taught my homely skills to others. In a time of need, I even helped to lead our Lowlife people. It was all very good. Even the loss of Madame and Amerie-chan and the others was bearable, taken in the context of the wheel of endless change and eternal sameness. But I feel very tired now, Peo. Even though you and I are very close together in years, I have become truly old while you still retain your vigour. So I will stay here, as I have a right to do. I will pray that you and the others succeed in stealing weapons from Roniah, since you have decided that they are necessary if you are to negotiate with the King. I myself feel that you could use more diplomatic means to insure safe passage through the timegate-but I can understand your wishing to have a power base for bargaining. But this is not for me. Not anymore. My own wheel has nearly turned full circle, and you must forgive me if I am silly enough to want to stay here, in the place I am so proud of."

"You aren't silly, Old Man." Burke bowed from the waist.

"Goodbye."

"I will not say sayonara to you, Peo, but rather, itte irasshai, which means only 'farewell for now.' Please tell the people who are going to Nionel to remember me and visit me here when they can. And if you should change your mind about the timegate, your wigwam will be waiting for you. I shall put a new roof on it before the rains come, and repair the hide-stretching frames."

"Thank you," said Burke.

The old man bowed deeply, and when he straightened, Burke was back in the saddle. The Chief lifted one hand, then spurred the chaliko and galloped away down the streamside trail.

Kawai pursed his lips and gave the undulating whistle that called Dejah and the kittens for their morning collation of fish and goat's milk. He had a frugal breakfast of his own and spent some time pottering about the cottage.

When the mist had burned away and shafts of sunlight stabbed down through the pines he went outside to tidy up the rose garden. The weeds had flourished and the mastodon-manured bushes were in need of pruning. Many were coming into their full bloom, filling the garden with perfume. After he had laboured for nearly three hours he rested on a rustic bench and watched the cat teach her kittens to stalk grasshoppers. Then what to do? "I will bring her flowers!" he decided impulsively.

He selected a jar from those on the shelf of the garden shed and filled it at the spring basin. Then he cut a bouquet of the barely unfurled buds of Precious Platinum, lushly scented and deep red. "Red for martyrs," he told the cat. "And they were a favourite of Madame, as well."

In order to show proper respect, he went to put on clean clothing, shutting the animals inside the cottage before he left so they would not be a distraction. He walked slowly through the deserted cluster of dwellings, crossed the central brook that received the waters of the scores of hot and cold springs that had given the village its name, and continued downstream for half a kilometre along the main trail until he came to the burying ground. A hiss of chagrin escaped him as he noticed how here, too, just three weeks of neglect had allowed the jungle to begin its invasion. Everyone had been too busy with leave-taking preparations to give any thought to the dead.

"Restoring this will be my first priority!" he vowed.

All at once he stood very still, listening.

Over the birdsong and the chatter of a drey of giant squirrels came another sound, deep and rhythmic, that seemed to emanate from the soil under his feet like the earth's own heartbeat. This was joined by a rolling murmur that intensified and revealed itself to be a sonorous contrabasso chant, sung by inhuman voices. Kawai had heard it before. It was the marching song of the Firvulag.

He stepped back onto the main trail and looked toward the foot of the canyon. His dim eyes perceived an inky shimmer, shot through with barbaric flashes of coloured light. The drumbeats throbbed and the deep musical humming began to reverberate off the narrowing walls of the gorge as the invaders approached. Kawai saw effigy-topped standards hung with golden blobs, squat marchers armed in obsidian, black-trapped chalikos bearing the ogre officers.

Still holding the jar of red roses, he stood in the middle of the trail and waited.

With dreamlike indifference, the goblin horde advanced. The foot soldiers bore serrated pikes, peculiar new crossbows, and lances tipped with a metal that could only be iron. As the fourabreast column reached him it divided, flowing on either side of him as though he were a rock in the middle of a dark stream.

The chant droned on. Not a single Firvulag took note of him.

He was rooted in the dust, too astonished to be afraid.

When the corps of mounted officers and cavalry reached him they reined up. The infantry marched inexorably on toward the village. Kawai stared at a single gigantic rider, clad from head to toe in glittering plates of black glass that were ornamented with spikes and knobs and jewelled excrescences. The massive helmet bore a crest of milk-coloured crystalline horns. The left gauntlet of the apparition was also of white glass. He carried an enormous gem-crusted shield, and at his side hung a sheath, from which protruded the handle of some formidable twentysecond-century weapon. Halted behind the leading ogre were two others of less splendid appearance, together with a dwarf officer who looked rather ridiculous perched on the back of a huge grey charger. The company of Firvulag cavalry flared out on either side of Kawai and took up a stance. At an unspoken command they drew laser carbines and solar-powered blasters from saddle scabbards and trained them on the old man.